


Kinkmeme fills #1

by amy_vic



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Blowjobs, M/M, handjobs, it's more like a cuckold roleplay within a threesome, not actually a cuckold, sex with a consenting sleeping partner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26706226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amy_vic/pseuds/amy_vic
Summary: I started up a kinkmeme to get us through February of 2020, because I figured why not? (In my defense, I had no idea that 2020 was going to Do That.) But the entire post ishere, if anyone wants to go read the rest of the fills
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Nate Fick, Jason Lilley/Rudy Reyes, Nate Fick/Ray Person, Stephen Ferrando/James Mattis
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Kinkmeme fills #1

**Author's Note:**

> I started up a kinkmeme to get us through February of 2020, because I figured why not? (In my defense, I had no idea that 2020 was going to Do That.) But the entire post is [here](https://amy-vic.dreamwidth.org/899943.html), if anyone wants to go read the rest of the fills

**Prompt 1: Nate/Ray, "Ray loves watching his boyfriend pretend he doesn't know how hot he is."**  
(It's technically Brad/Nate, with some Brad/Nate/Ray implied there at the end.)

Nate's standing next to the bed, one knee on the mattress, upper body twisted as he looks back and says, "Are you sure you want to do this? With me, I mean?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't be standing here, naked and about to have your dick in my ass."

Nate gives him a fond but hesitant look; it's dulled by the fact that he's already flushed and a little sweaty around his hairline, with his erection prominent.

The next several-30 seconds are a complete blur of movement, and then they're both on the bed and Nate groans and says, "please, _yeah_."

Ray will never get tired of the way Nate's voice breaks on that yeah, like he's lost and alone and the only person that he knows will rescue him is right in front of him, and all he needs to do is ask.

The difference tonight is that Ray isn't that person; Brad is the one on the bed, thighs flexing as he sinks down onto Nate's cock. Ray is just out of both their sightlines, one shoulder against the bedroom door as he grips his own cock in his fist.

Nate had been the one to suggest this, that he wanted Ray to watch, and it hadn't taken much convincing before Ray agreed. ("Have you _seen_ the two of you? I mean, forget Rudy, we could film you, and Lilley and I could make fuckin' bank.") Ray shoves his pants a little further down so he can get his hand down around his balls, gives them a firm squeeze. It feels like he's been hard forever, which is incidentally about the same amount of time that Nate spent making out with Brad on their way into the bedroom, and if Ray taps out of this so early, it's gonna get awkward, and nobody wants that. So he closes his eyes for a moment, ignores the afterimage of Brad's tattoo standing out even in the dim light of the room, and relaxes his grip a little.

Which is all fine and good until he hears Brad gasp Nate's name. He's never heard Brad sound like that before. Clearly, Ray has to open his eyes and see what that's about.

Huh. So _that's_ what Nate does with his hands to elicit that reaction. Ray's felt it, of course, but he's usually too busy coming to really understand the specifics of where Nate's fingers are. (Brad is...definitely enjoying that. Ray makes a mental note to bring up double penetration they next time they talk.)

Ray keeps stroking himself, and at some point he closes his eyes again, because when he opens them he sees that Nate's changed their positions, so Brad is flat on his back at the edge of the bed; Nate is standing over him and from the panting and gasping Ray can hear (not to mention how Nate's thighs and ass are flexing), Nate is thrusting into Brad as deeply as he can, most likely hitting his prostate on nearly every stroke.

Brad turns his head toward Ray. He's a little closer now, by virtue of being on the other end of the bed, but Ray's still mostly in shadow. Still, Ray feels like Brad's staring directly at him as Nate wraps his fingers around Brad's cock and strokes in counterpoint to his thrusts. On the fourth or fifth stroke, Nate growls out, "Yeah, that's it. Come for me," and if that was supposed to be an order meant just for Brad, well...oops.

A minute (five? ten?) passes. Brad doesn't move from where he's pressed against Nate's side, flushed and sweaty. Just turns his head towards the other side of the room. "Ray, your boyfriend has tried to kill me via sex. Please help."

Nate looks far too smug for a guy who's still rock hard and hasn't come. Ray's about to fix that.

~~~~~

**Prompt 2: Nate likes to use Ray for stress relief**  
(features sex with a sleeping-but-consenting partner)

Ray had made a joke about it, after the third day of (as it turned out) a five-day stretch where Nate headed to the library to study after dinner, and ended up watching the sun rise on his way home.

"If you need to, you can just fuck me when you get home. Or just jerk off onto me, whichever; I've gotta shower before work anyways."

His back had been turned, so when he didn't hear any response, he'd turned around, found Nate looking at him with his mouth half-open like he was just about to say something. The expression on his face had been confusion mixed with a less-than-healthy amount of sleep deprivation. "Or...not? Nevermind, forget I said anything."

"You sure you'd be okay with that?" Which...wow, that was not what he expected Nate to say. Ray gets a glass of water, drinks half of it while thinking about his answer.

"No, I don't mind. Just, use a little more lube than normal, don't fuck my face or come in my mouth where I might choke, okay?"

The next morning, Ray wakes up to find his own come sticking his belly to the bedsheet, and Nate slowly thrusting in and out of his ass. He doesn't seem to be in any real hurry to get off, although he does speed his thrusts a little when he notices that Ray's awake.

"Hi," Ray says, lifting his head to kiss Nate. Nate has his arms under Ray's knees, holding them up and open, and something tweaks in his thigh. "Ow, shit, no good; move your hand, let me stretch out?"

Nate does so immediately, and Ray slides his foot along the back of Nate's calf in response. "Thanks. How long have you been home?"

"Long enough-- _fuck_ that's good--to get clean sheets from the linen closet and for you to come," Nate says, just as a pained look flickers across his face, which Ray knows usually happens right before he comes. He tilts his hips up, changes the angle of Nate's cock just enough, and then Nate's pulling out to come all over Ray's chest. (He manages to hit right between both stars, nice.)

Ray shifts over a little, both to get off the wet spot and to give Nate more space to lie down beside him. "So, hey, good morning, how was studying?"

Nate laughs a little. "It was good. I worked very hard, then I rewarded myself."

"You wanna also reward yourself with a shower? I don't have to be at work for," Ray checks the clock, "almost three hours, that's enough time for a shower and some breakfast before you go back to sleep."

Nate's already half asleep as he says, "Mmm, quick nap first?

~~~~~

**Prompt 3: Lilley gets Rudy on board with the idea of filming gay porn, and finds filming Rudy jerking off to be more of a thing he's into than he previously thought.**  
(Gentle, consent-filled jerking off in a back office? Why yes, yes I will write that.)

Lilley isn't terribly surprised that Rudy heard him and Poke talking about filming gay porn. The tent wasn't that big, and word travels.

But when Rudy tracks him down later in the cigarette factory and says, "So, stuff's calmed down a lot, and we probably don't have too many days before we fly out; if you were serious about shooting a porno, we should film it soon," well...Lilley needs a minute. Several, in fact.

The thing is, Lilley could absolutely just say to him that they'd just been joking, and Rudy would just nod and continue on his way. No harm, no foul.

Instead, they end up in a tiny office at the back of the factory. There's cartons of cigarettes, boxes of paperwork and who fuckin' knows what else back there, but it's quiet, isolated, and there's actually pretty nice light coming in through the two little windows. As far as impromptu porn sets go, it's good.

Rudy doesn't waste any time. As soon as Lilley gives him a nod that the camera is recording, he leans back against the wall a bit, unzips his pants, shoves them down a little, and gets to it.

It's not terribly uncomfortable, really, for Lilley to be standing there while Rudy jerks off in the dim light; they've all seen each other in various states of nudity, and combat jacks are never 100% private. Still, the camera in his hands adds a sort of...dimension to the whole thing. He's mostly just trying to stay out of the light, so he won't cast a shadow onto Rudy, and paying more attention to keeping Rudy in the camera frame than the fact that Rudy's really here in front of him, half-naked, jerking off, and committing it to film.

Lilley doesn't say anything, because really, what is there to say at this point, but then Rudy looks up at the camera - looks at _Lilley_ \- and quietly says, "Yeah, you like that? You like watching me jerk myself off for you?"

And. Lilley's been so concerned with the practicalities of this situation ( _don't let the camera battery die, keep the camera steady, holy shit don't get caught doing this_ ) that he hasn't really stopped to consider the realities of the situation. Namely, that while Rudy's gotten himself hard, Lilley's own cock has gotten hard without any help.

"You wanna put the camera down and c'mere, Jay?" Rudy says. "Let me take care of you?"

Lilley hesitates for a moment. Rudy's married to a woman and Lilley's got a girlfriend back home, but he's made out with dudes, sure, who hasn't? and they're also in the middle of a war and they finally got out of those damn MOPP suits and took honest-to-god half-assed showers after rigging up some 55-gallon drums and it's _Rudy_ so he sets the camera down on the nearest desk and crosses the room. Rudy doesn't touch him, just stops slouching and looks him in the eye. "You're okay with this? If I'm going too far, just say the word, Jason, and I'll stop."

"No, I. Please," Lilley says, and he nearly cries out in relief when Rudy pops the button on his pants. He hasn't been touched by another person since his girlfriend fucked him the night before they all mustered in Oceanside, and he hasn't had a jack since before Sarabadi. Rudy gets his hand around him, and Lilley can't help but thrust up into it. "Please, yes."

Rudy does, slowly, and after a moment takes hold of Lilley's jaw with his other hand and squeezes lightly. Lilley's closed his eyes without re. "Tell me how you like it, Jay; want it like this? Faster?"

"That's-good speed, but tighter, please?" Lilley's nearly shaking, trying to hold off on just coming immediately. Rudy adjusts his grip, adding a twist on the next upstroke, and Lilley gasps. "Fuck, yeah please that's good."

Rudy gets his free hand back on his own cock, says, "Yeah, that's it Jay, c'mon," and keeps stroking until they're both leaning into each other's shoulders to muffle the sounds as they come.

Behind them, the camera's low battery warning beeps.

~~~~~

 **Prompt 4: Godfather/Chaos, shaving/bathing kink. Because Command was also living in MOPP suits, without showers for days/weeks on end. (bonus points for realistic, 'neither of them are 25 anymore' sex.)**  
(In a note to a friend, I categorized this as "70% domesticity, 29% sass and snark, and 12% porn." It's all that, plus some established relationship shower blowjob, and I regret nothing.)

Stephen's sure he'll be fine. After all, it's only five weeks, and they've certainly been apart for longer stretches. 

He stops mailing letters at the end of the second week. No sense having them returned in a month, or worse, end up floating around the FOB. (He's not an idiot; he never signs his name, just a looping S, and most guys are smart enough to respect a sealed envelope, but still. Caution and discretion are key.) Being back Stateside is a shock to his system, especially the sheer volume of people and things and choices, but he's done this enough that he settles back into the rhythms of day-to-day life relatively quickly. Goes grocery shopping twice a week, doesn't break down in the cereal aisle, wears a clean, freshly pressed shirt every single day, even though he's on leave. 

End of the fifth week, he's putting the laundry in the dryer when the security alarm keypad beeps, alerting him that the front door just opened. He fights the sudden adrenaline surge, takes a deep breath, forces himself not to just grab the .38 from behind the laundry soap, and heads to the front hall. 

James smirks when he sees him, gestures to the towel that Stephen's still holding as he drops his kit bag. "What, Steve, you gonna choke me out with that?" 

And there goes all the adrenaline, but now he can't stop smiling? "Careful, old man, I can still kick your ass." 

"Old man, please, I'm only a few years older than you," James scoffs as he steps closer. He telegraphs how he's going to move, and Stephen does the same, which is why James doesn't flinch when the damp towel gets wrapped around the back of his neck and Stephen pulls him close enough to kiss. James tastes like overpriced, weak-ass airport coffee. "Hi, honey, how was your day?" 

Stephen laughs against his mouth. "It's been a good day so far. Be a lot better when you stop smelling like a sweat drenched, Iraqi gas station mud puddle and tracking dirt all over, though," he says, rubbing the towel up the back of James's neck, getting into his hair a little before scratching behind his ears gently. Neither of them is surprised when it comes away dirty. 

James re-shoulders his kit bag and heads for the laundry room. The bag has barely hit the floor before Stephen's hands come up and starts unbuttoning his shirt, even as he's crowding James's personal space for more kissing. "Feeling a little bossy today, are we, Steve?" 

"It has been 52 days since I've touched you, Jimmy, and that was only because you handed me the pen I'd dropped," Stephen says, all but ripping the last two buttons off the shirt. "I have been half-hard for the last 6 hours, thinking about getting you naked and into my shower so that I can wash that fucking middle Eastern grime off of you. Yes, I'm bossy today. Sit down and take your fucking boots off." 

By the time James has gotten his boots unlaced and set just inside the mudroom to be powerwashed later (jesus, these insoles are _shredded_ , how didn't he notice this earlier?) Stephen's gotten the kit bag dumped out on the floor and is pulling anything fabric out of the pile to toss into the washing machine. James peels off his socks (ignoring the sand that puffs up) and walks over to toss them in, mostly because he knows Stephen will make a face if he chucks them in when they're all balled up, and partly just to feel the cool tile under his feet. 

Stephen doesn't even slow his movements, just grabs James by one hip and the opposite shoulder, turns him until his ass is against the dryer, and strips him of his salt-stained t-shirt in one swift move. James lets himself be undressed, bracing his hands against the edge of the dryer and thrusting his hips up helpfully when Stephen goes for the buttons and zipper of his pants. 

"Shit, you've lost weight," Stephen says once James is standing in front of him, naked and completely without shame. (Neither of them have had any body shame in decades.) He can't see the outline of each of James' ribs, but he'd be able to feel them for sure. "You don't even have a beer gut anymore." 

"I haven't had a beer gut since the Reagan administration, what the fuck are you talking about?" James laughs as Stephen dumps laundry soap into the washer and starts it. "And if I've lost any weight, it'll just make my dick look bigger." 

Stephen doesn't break eye contact as he reaches down. His hand wraps firmly around James' cock and strokes it a few times, lazily, like he hasn't jerked himself off to the thought of it an untold number of times in the last month. "Your dick doesn't need to get any _bigger_ , it just needs to get clean, harder, and then shoved in my mouth." 

"You say the sweetest things to me," James says fondly. Stephen just pulls him up and gives him a gentle push towards the stairs. 

The shower is more than big enough for the both of them, and James steps in while Stephen takes his clothes off. "Shit. I forgot what it's like to have this much space all to yourself while you shower. And it's so quiet in here; nobody's bitching about the water pressure or the cold or who heard what on the BBC. " 

Stephen joins him a few moments later, reaches out to turn the water on. It takes a few seconds for the temperature to come up, but James doesn't seem to mind; he leans into the spray and rolls his shoulders, working out the knots that only days crammed on an airplane can bring. There had been a refueling stop in Portugal, and he'd made sure everyone had done at least one lap of the tarmac and some stretches before getting some chow, but it hadn't been nearly enough. 

"You mind if I crowd you a little?" Stephen says. "I don't want to ruin your shower by being too bossy." 

James smiles and leans his head back, lets Stephen bring a shampoo-filled palm up and start scrubbing his hair. There's steam building in the air around them, and it smells less like dirt and more like soap now. If James isn't careful, he's apt to nod off. "No, I don't mind. _You_ don't crowd me, and I like it when you're bossy." 

He keeps his eyes open until Stephen seems pleased with the amount of hair-washing, and nudges him gently under the water to rinse. 

When he moves out from under the spray and wipes water out of his eyes, Stephen holds up a washcloth. "Let me?" 

It's easy, then, to just close his eyes and let Stephen wash him, starting with his face and working down. Neither of them say much, except for Stephen's occasional request for James to turn or lift his arms. Stephen works the cloth down James's torso, being careful to go lightly over the various scrapes, patches of sunburn at his neck and on his hands, and places where his body armor's rubbed the skin nearly raw. Even so, the soap stings, and he hisses when Stephen rubs over a particularly tender spot on his right hip. 

"Sorry," Stephen says, taking the cloth away. He kneels down slowly and kisses an apology onto the skin nearby, thankful for the small bath pad he'd had the forethought to engineer a waterproof cover for; they both love in-shower blowjobs, but love not fucking up their knees and hips more. James thrusts his hips forward out of habit when Stephen circles his cock with the washcloth, but Stephen doesn't move towards him, just washes him gently but thoroughly, rinsing the cloth and adding more soap before continuing down James' legs. 

James lets out a huffed laugh and shifts his balance when Stephen taps his ankle to get him to lift his foot. The washcloth tickles no matter how much pressure Stephen uses. "Steve, if _I_ may be bossy for a moment? Stop counting the grains of sand between my toes and suck my dick." 

Stephen looks up at him with a smirk on his face and a glint in his eye. "Oh, I'm sorry, _sir_ , was that something that you wanted? I couldn't see, because there was a dick blocking my view." 

James laughs and braces himself with his hands on Stephen's shoulders. 

The water eventually runs cold. It takes them several minutes to actually notice. 

~~~~~


End file.
